Anya came out of the hot, steaming bathroom and sighed with pleasure. After a long hard day she always needed a relaxing shower. It helped her to unwind her pensive, tense state she was perpetually in. Normally, she was wound as tight as a drum, by choice. She had learnt enough from her father to know that enemies always struck at you when you least expected it, the least prepared. Therefore she had endeavoured to be prepared for action at all times.

She sighed happily again. This was one of the few times during her day that she could let her guard down and feel safe. Well, relatively safe. Safe at least from those prying eyes that she knew her father habitually kept on her trail, partly to check on her progress but also partly to make sure she kept to her orders. She knew that was the way the Syndicate did things - they never trusted anyone. Well, she had been groomed as an operative from a young age and knew their procedures inside out. If she was to survive long enough to double cross anybody she had to play the game better than anyone else. Anya smiled bitterly. She had always loved a challenge.

She quickly surveyed the room to check that she had taken note of all the listening and surveillance devices in her room. As far as she knew, Syndicate procedure dictated that at least two devices needed to be secured in order to carry out a routine surveillance - one under the phone and another in the ceiling, preferably somewhere unobtrusive like the smoke alarm. However she did not entirely trust her father so she always checked for more. She had found three devices in her room once - that was enough to remind her that she should always be alert to what was being said in her room. A person usually only got to make one mistake before they ended up dead. She did not plan to end up that way.

Anya sat on the edge of her bed and stared into nothingness as she languorously brushed her long, dark mass of hair. The sound of the hotel phone ringing startled her from her reverie.

She picked up the receiver. Silence. Click. Click. Silence. Anya stared at the receiver in consternation for a moment, trying to guess at its meaning. A warning? A message? Both? It was hard to tell.

She continued to ponder its significance until deciphering the message. She sprang up off the bed and discarded her robe hurriedly as she rummaged around her suitcase for a suitable change of clothing. She quickly got dressed into a pair of black jeans, black tank top and threw on her black leather jacket, stepping into her boots in the process.

She was out the door in a minute. She started to go down the hall when she realised that she had forgotten the most important accessory of all. Damn. She had to go back for her gun.

Checking the magazine to make sure she had enough rounds, she gently closed her hotel door again. Relatively junior FBI agents going out on the first night of assignment were usually reprimanded by their superiors for their lack of discipline. She definitely did not want to draw any unnecessary attention on herself at this point in time.

She made sure that her room was locked and turned down the hallway. She was startled by Agent Scully's call from behind.

"Anya, where are you going?" Anya recovered and spun around gracefully, walking up to Scully's door. The older agent held a handful of sunflower seeds and bagful of fresh fruit. She had evidently come up from the other set of lifts.

"Oh ... nothing much." Anya brushed back the tresses of her long, black hair. "Some friends called me up, wanted to meet me for a couple of drinks. I wouldn't usually, but I figure we don't have much to do but preliminary interviews tomorrow, so I thought it'd be okay." She frowned and tried to look worried. "It is okay, isn't Agent Scully?"

Scully blinked once before smiling at the leather clad agent. Anya seemed so young compared to her, literally asking her permission to go out with friends. Scully was again reminded of her lost youth in the persuance of higher goals in the presence of the younger agent. She did not regret her actions, but merely regretted the price exacted for her beliefs.

"I'm sure it's fine. Just remember we're going down to the field office to examine witness statements in the morning." Scully smiled. "Have a nice time."

"Thanks Agent Scully. Say ..." Anya glanced at the emerging form of Agent Mulder behind Scully, "You guys want to come? Have a few drinks, relax, get a few laughs. You're more than welcome."

Scully turned around and looked at Mulder behind her, clad in a faded t-shirt and track pants. An almost imperceptible current of communication passed between them as Scully turned back towards Anya. She smiled at the gesture of friendship extended towards them. Scully was surprisingly touched; she had not realised that out of all the years she had been with Mulder she had missed the unmistakable feeling of comaraderie between the members of the same division - that sense of purpose and common goal which somehow bonded its members. Of course, what she had with Mulder was a much more intense, condensed version of that comaraderie, and again she realised that she did not regret its absence. Choices had been made a long time ago that sealed her journey down this dangerous, perilous and inextricably lonely path. And with every step her journey with Mulder took her farther way from that more innocent Dana Scully who had been at that first fateful meeting with Mulder. So far that when she tried to look back and glance at her more youthful self she seemed too distance to reach; her view obscured by the mists of time and judgement. Her perception and view of the world had metamorphised, reflecting the more fundamental change in her. Events had changed her and she had reacted to those changes. Mulder had changed her, and she liked to think that she had also changed him, even a little. It had become a symbiotic relationship between them.

Scully refocused her attention back onto the younger agent.

"No, it's fine. I've got some medical reports I'd like to review."

"And I've got some profiling case studies I'd like to get a start on before we begin to examine those statements tomorrow." Agent Mulder chimed in.

"Well okay ... I guess I'll see you guys in the morning then." With that Anya smiled and headed for the elevator.

Mulder closed the door behind him as he entered Scully's room. Familiarity with each other's presence had fostered a growing level of intimacy between them, to the point where neither one had to ask the other whether they preferred to be alone. They could sense things about each other without the need for either to communicate their wishes.

"So Scully, did you think that was strange? Agent Bartovsky hardly knows us yet asked us for a drink." Mulder looked at Scully quizzically. Scully sighed indulgingly.

"Mulder, she's just being friendly ... stop being so paranoid. She isn't a likely candidate for subversion by the smoking man or any other covert government operation intent on gaining our trust and betraying our interests for their own purposes. Besides, this isn't even an X-File."

"Wow Scully, I'm impressed by your logical extrapolation of ideas that I myself only hinted on. I was actually just going for 'strange' ... but this whole conspiracy idea isn't too bad at all ..." Mulder taunted her, feeling emboldened by the unimpressed expression she was giving him. Her only other response was to give him a cold stare with her crystal blue eyes which tempered Mulder's comments down a little.

* * *

Anya stepped out from the lift and surveyed the lobby. She had been pondering the ramifications of her unexpected encounter with Mulder and Scully and examined her behaviour from a number of perspectives. She concluded with satisfaction that she had covered up the real reason why she was out in the hallway dressed like some would-be assassin, and in addition had squeezed an exchange with Sully that boded well, providing a foundation for the future establishment of trust between them. Gaining Scully's trust was crucial to her plans; any successful manipulation of Mulder depended upon it.

She glanced around crowded lobby. She compartmentalised her thoughts on Scully to the back of her mind; she had another 'close encounter' to be concerned about now. There did not seem to be any sign of Syndicate henchman lurking in the corners of the lobby; perhaps it was deemed too public an arena to plant permanent surveillance operatives there. There did not appear to be anyone in particular loitering in the area, everyone seemed completely absorbed in their own activities. After a further glance around Anya decided it was safe to proceed.

She approached the front desk and tentatively smiled at the clerk despite feeling completely detached from any such feelings. Her eyes darted around once more before questioning the clerk.

"Hi, I was wondering whether any messages have been left for me. I'm in room 5003."

"Sure ma'am, I'll just have a look for you." The clerk rummaged around on the desk as Anya brushed away loose strands of her hair, checking again for suspicious people. "Yes ma'am, there was a gentleman here who wanted you to call him as soon as you got the message." He handed her a piece of paper. "That's the name and number over there."

She smiled at him and was gratified to see he smiled back. She was afraid she had been a little too reserved and tentative. People tended to remembered if they appeared nervous or tense.

"Thanks a lot for that." She glanced at the name, confirming her suspicions as to the identity of her mystery caller. Making herself walk sedately to the nearest payphone, she dialled the number.

"It's me." She waited for her voice to register. "What do you want?" She continued to be vigilant as she patiently listened to the other end of the line. "No I don't think that's wise. It's too dangerous ... I'm sure you know that as well as I do ..." She huddled closer to the phone as a well-dressed businessman queued patiently behind her, "Okay ... fine. I'll see you then." She put the receiver down and headed towards the lift.

* * *

Logic screamed to her that this impending meeting with Alex Krycek was not a good idea. Her careful planning and preparation had included almost every conceivable problem and difficulty that might have arisen in its implementation ... almost being the operative word. Needless to say the reappearance of Alex into her life was unforseen and therefore potentially detriment.

And yet she could not stay away. Like a vine intent on persistent growth it sprung out from its hiding place for all those years and now wrapped itself around her unsuspecting heart. It insinuated itself into the tendrils of her being and took hold of it there, the feeling a one of purity and strength ... and love.

She knew even now that loving him would most probably prove to be her downfall. But she did not care. She had believed her heart dead and buried when she thought he had died; for seven years her heart had steadily grown still and cold, like rigamortis on a corpse; until she thought that a chunk of ice would be comparably warm next to her chilly excuse for a heart. No passion, but fire. The cold fire of revenge on those that had stripped her and others of the possibility of a happy, tranquil life.

But now ... in truth she considered this feeling of love for him a blessing, for it told her that her soul was not dead after all. The slow flame of love still flickered inside her, dimmed but not extinguished.

She knocked on the door and heard footsteps walk towards the door in response. The thought briefly crossed her mind to back out, to forestall the meeting, but she immediately dismissed it. Right decision or not, she was ready.

The door opened, and suddenly they were staring at each other. There was not as much electrically charged bolts of energy; after a brief exchange he stepped aside to let her through.

He closed the door gently after her. Alex let his façade of stoic detachedness drop momentarily as he contemplated her form as he followed her to the centre of the room. It had become more clear to him the changes that had taken place in her in his absence. She looked lean, muscled and ready to spring. She looked like she was ready to hunt ... or be hunted. He thought he had glimpsed a line or two lightly etched on her forehead as she came in ... prematurely etched. In most people they would have been proud lines of wisdom, won after many years of living and experience. But for her they represented hardship and emotional starvation.

She turned around as if feeling his eyes on her. Alex noticed for the first time her attire and was mildly surprised. Black, from head to toe. In stark contrast to how he had remembered her, light and airy. He used to tease her about her passion for skirts and dresses, her preference for floral prints and light coloured tops. He had convinced her once to wear a black cocktail dress, as a favour to him for their second anniversary. With her alabaster skin, raven blue black hair and piercing blue eyes, she looked like a radiant vision from heaven. He realised now he had been wrong of course. She had looked so much better the way she was. For the clothes she wore now were like a reflection, a window into her inner thoughts. And Alex knew the difference between this dark and sombre woman to the one he had known. Still, he should have guessed by now that the Anya he had known, that girl was gone forever. Lost to him as his youth was lost.

He smiled perfunctorily. During his long 'career' in espionage and assassination, he had honed the skill of hiding his reactions, his expressions, his feelings. To give nothing away until it was necessary or advantageous to do so. That was the only way to stay one step ahead of your opposition.

"What do we have to talk about Alex?" Anya began conducting a careful inspection of the room. Love him or not, she did not trust him. To the best of her knowledge he was still working for the Syndicate, and therefore working with her father. And after reading a fraction of her father's secret files she knew that working for that insidious group of men meant double dealing, larceny and murder. Mostly murder. She had no illusions about the capability of Alex Krycek in that area.

Anya took a torch out of her pocket and examined the smoke alarm in the ceiling. Her first priority was to look for listening devices or hidden cameras, telltale signs that her plan for sabotaging the group's plans had been discovered.

"Anya what are you doing?" Alex asked her impatiently. "If you think I've come to all this trouble just to set you up, you're dreaming. I'm nobody's errand boy anymore."

Anya concluded her inspection of the room and turned towards him, her blue eyes gleaming in the dim light.

"'Any more' Alex? Implying of course, that you were an errand boy, once." Sarcasm dripped like honey from her words as she narrowed her eyes. "What did you have to do to get out of that detail anyway? Must've been something big ... father and his friends would never let one of you guys stay alive long enough for me to see."

The use of 'you guys' grated at Alex more than he liked. She had known him as long ago, yet some things stayed the same. He had always been a proud man and she knew it. Knew it with enough certainty to have the confidence to conduct psychological warfare with him by pushing him as far as he could go.

'Look little girl, I'm not here to play with you. I don't care shit what you're up to at the FBI, and I care even less about whatever game you're playing with your 'daddy'. I came to you with a proposal ..." Anya involuntarily started, "a professional alliance..." Alex lowered his voice to a whisper as he drew in breath to continue. His jaw visibly tightened. "We can work together ... I've seen enough to know that you're fucking with the group's plans for Mulder and Scully and frankly, you're going to need all the help you can get. This is a dangerous game you're playing and your status as your father's daughter is worth nothing. Absolutely nothing. At best you're a pawn to be used to push the other pieces around ... these men have no scruples about taking you out. Hell I should know ... they've given me the order so many times."

"And what, let me guess, you're offering to help me out of the kindness and goodness of your heart? I'll save you the trouble of reciting the rest of your pretty little speech." Anya frowned, her anger mounting. "If it wasn't to you advantage you wouldn't be taking the risk of exposing yourself just to offer help to me. Your motives are guided by no more than your base need of self-preservation and advancement. Don't try to disguise it as some sort of good samaritan bullshit." Her voice was rising despite her attempt at restraint.

"And why should that surprise you?" Seeing her anger dripping off her words, Alex felt his own hold on his emotions loosening. His anger matched hers in intensity and seethed out from his being. "Everyone's motives are selfish. Don't act so surprised - you're just as self-centred as the rest of us. Don't try to fool yourself into thinking that you're performing some sort of inestimable service to mankind. That's all bullshit." He said condescendingly, lunging towards her and grabbing her shoulder. He was so close to her she felt his breath on her cheek. "What you're after is for your father to bleed, bleed for what he's done and for who he's hurt. So you can have your revenge on him ... your revenge ... You're not out to help those billions of people who're going to die when the colonists come ... you don't care that all these innocent people will all be slaughtered ..."

"And I suppose you do? Cut the crap - you're only interested in yourself!" she bit back.

"It doesn't matter ... it's all the same ... we're both the same ... whether we like it or not." Anya and Alex stood as still as statues. "So that you can feel that your mother didn't die in vain." Alex let that thought slip out before realising it. He bit his lip and looked away, sensing the hurt his last remark had caused her.

Anya swallowed once. Rebellious tears welled in her eyes at his callous mention of her mother. She was not sure whether it had been calculated to injure her and she didn't care. Her eyelashes fluttered in a futile attempt to regain her expression of stony impenetrability. Alex glanced back towards her just as a single tear coursed its way down her cheek. Unthinkingly he reached out and gently wiped it off her face. At his touch she started and jerked herself away from him. She slapped his hand away as hurt, confusion and anger combined into an increasingly volatile mix inside her, churning with more intensity with each passing moment. Propelling herself towards the door, she growled in an ominous tone,

"Sorry, I don't do deals with self-serving errand boys."

* * *

"Damn it!" Alex slammed his fist into the wall in frustration. He had not meant to lose control of the situation like that. It was beyond reproach for him to make such a crucial error ... it was unusual as well, that he should let his feelings get entangled in such a delicate matter. He cursed himself for his stupidity. He had come under-prepared for this meeting, had not factored in his reaction to her presence, much less her truthful, incisive retorts to his taunts.

Damn her! Alex swiped a pile of books and newspapers off the table, giving vent to his anger and frustration. He ranted and raved, mixing Russian curses with English profanities. He continued on his tirade until it had sapped him of all energy.

Okay. Calm down.

Alex took a slow, deep breath. He forced himself to objectively assess the situation as he nervously paced the room. It was not as if he really needed this alliance. Wanted it yes, but needed it, no. He had always survived on his own and this would be no different. Except this time he did not just want to survive. He wanted to fight, to retaliate, do something that would be his legacy to others. He was tired of constantly looking over his shoulder for would-be assassins, tired of dragging himself out of bed every day wondering if it was going to be his last. Tired of hiding in the dark cracks of civilisation, inadvertently pining for some shred of normality that would anchor him to a certain life, a certain place. To most of the world Alex Krycek did not exist. No face, no family to his name. And when his past will finally catch up with him, his passing from the world would not cause even a small blimp in the radar of civilisation. He was a being who lived in shadows, constituted with matter as insubstantial as air. And when he died he would cease to exist, not even leaving behind grains of dust to evidence his passing. He was dissipate into nothingness.

Depression was the foremost enemy he now had to fight against. It came more and more often now, forced him to assess his life repeatedly and question choices that he could no longer change. Like a ghostly presence its spectre haunted him and threatened to strike at him from beyond the darkness, bleeding his spirit out of him. And each time it came it was harder to dispel.

He absently glanced out the window, his teal green eyes surveying the street below. There was also that part of him that was shunted away in an iron clad vault inside him, his heart that persisted in having feelings for Anya. More than just feelings, they were a timeless reminder of those years of happiness he had found enshrouded in her arms, provided a beacon for his persistent hopes of the future. For despite the hardships, the trauma, the treachery Alex Krycek had been through these last years he was still, and always will be, an eternal optimist at heart. He smiled in spite of himself. How ironic.

The air was too stifling for him suddenly. The walls seemed to be closing in on him, reminding him of that other time when he had awakened from a dreamless void in an abandoned missile silo in North Dakota, spewing black substances from his pores. The thoughts never failed to produce tremors that courses throughout his entire body. He burst out of his room. He needed fresh air, a drink, and time to think .... most of all to get away from her. And he didn't care where he got it.

* * *

Anya lurched out onto the alleyway, not caring where she was heading. As long as she was moving away from Alex Krycek. It was dawning on her now that she had made a serious miscalculation of the part in which Alex would place in her plans to subvert the conspiracy. In him, she would have found a valuable ally, at least in terms of resources if not in terms of loyalty. She dared not entertain the hope that she could inspire someone like him into loyalty. Anya knew that this game they were willingly engaged in was not one for the faint-hearted. A person had to do whatever it took to survive, to get ahead, to play. That inevitably meant treachery, betrayal and even murder when the situation warranted it. She had sealed her fate and confirmed her playing status long ago when she had murdered an innocent train operator just so that the group would have no witnesses to their scientific research. Killed him, in cold blood with a gun. His only mistake was that he was in the wrong place at the wrong time. She had discovered that night a cold blooded intensity within herself that allowed her to screw the silencer on the end of the gun barrel as she hid behind him, and to wipe the blood off her gloves as she stood over the wasted body of the man who she herself had shot twice, without regret or sorrow.

She had known that she had made the wrong decision almost as soon as the words left her mouth. But his words had opened a flood of suppressed pain and anger at all the losses that she had been forced to endure in her life. He had known where to fire his retaliatory shots into her coat of armour, and like a breached damn her violent emotion had poured forth, unable to be halted on its inexorable flow.

The coolness of the night air soothed her raw nerves. She thought about what Alex had offered to her, turned it around inside her mind with cool objectiveness and weighed its implications. Could she really work with him? Trust him, yet not trust him? Betray him if there was ever a time she needed to, kill him if he betrayed her?

She admitted that she could not. Her love for Alex was the only part of her that she could not control, could not suppress nor stem its flow. Its steady flame would not be blown out or frozen to ice to match the rest of what was inside her.

* * *

"Excuse me sir, you have a message." Krycek looked up at the clerk in surprise. He had just returned from a seedy bar on the other side of town where he had successfully collected his thoughts and was retrieving his pass card from the front desk.

"What message?" He asked bluntly. He looked around. As far as he knew his colleagues did not know he was in town.

"Ah, there was a young lady that left this here a few minutes ago. Said to give it to the gentleman at room 4201 when he came in." The young man handed Alex a piece of paper. "Told me that it was real important that it get to ya."

Alex thanked the clerk and tipped him. He unfolded the paper and read the message:

"I'll deal with an errand boy if you'll deal with a pawn. Will be in touch."

He allowed a small smile of satisfaction to cross his face as he entered the elevator. He did not know which uplifted him the more - the thought of a new ally, or that the ally happened to be the woman he would walk to the ends of the earth for.